


Strings

by Antipode



Series: I Was Lost Without You [4]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Biotic Shepard (Mass Effect), Classical Music, Custom Shepard (Mass Effect), F/F, Inspired by Music, Lesbians in Space, No Lesbians Die, Paragon Shepard (Mass Effect), Romance, Spacer (Mass Effect), Vanguard (Mass Effect), War Hero (Mass Effect), Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26735269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antipode/pseuds/Antipode
Summary: A flashback to the Normandy SR-1. Liara discovers Shepard's hidden depths, after some prodding from Dr. Chakwas. Inspired by a scene from Master & Commander: Far Side of the World.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Liara T'Soni
Series: I Was Lost Without You [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937521
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Strings

**Author's Note:**

> Re-posting to re-organize a series of short vignettes in the lives of Sybilla Shepard and Liara T'Soni, spanning ME1-ME3 and including backstory & some future content. Largely told through Liara's POV.

“Dr. T’soni? Dr. T’Soni, are you in?”

Liara T’Soni started, blearily wiping at her eyes. She had fallen asleep again at the small desk she had claimed for herself in the medical bay, pouring over ancient Prothean translations and carvings, trying to piece together something, anything that might be of use deciphering the beacon now embedded into Commander Shepard’s brain. It was slow, tedious going; re-examining poorly-catalogued information, trying to piece together new leads out of clues left 50,000 years ago. Between assisting Dr. Chakwas in the med-bay and assisting Shepard on missions and now hours spent on research, she was exhausting herself.

“I am here,” she called, stifling a yawn.

Dr. Chakwas slid through the med-bay door, an impish smile on her face and a pair of tall, fluted glasses in her hand. “Put those data-pads and stone tablets away. You are being called to a special occasion.” She thrust one of the glasses towards her.

Liara took it more reflexively than out of a desire to drink, self-consciousness at the prospect of socializing with aliens already blooming in heated spots under her collar. “Thank you, doctor, but I-I am quite tired, and I had thought to-”

“Not tonight,” Chakwas announced. “You are coming to the lounge with me, Dr. T’Soni. Our illustrious Commander requires your presence.”

“... Commander Shepard asked for me?” An electric tingle crept up her spine.

“Something like that. Come along!” She reached out and seized her arm, practically dragging her out of her chair with a surprising strength that belied the woman’s age and frame. Outside the med-bay, a surprising number of the crew was milling about the lounge area where they took their meals. The fluted glasses appeared ubiquitous, and the humans seemed in unusually high spirits, chatting animatedly in small groups. Despite having now been aboard the Normandy for several weeks, Liara wasn’t entirely at ease around so many humans. She’d scarcely interacted with any humans in her entire life, save for a few archeologists and scientists at the University of Serrice or at various Prothean dig-sites. Their intensity and single-mindedness frightened her, a little. _They probably find me quite strange, as well_ , she mused, more than a little self-consciously.

A strange, discordant note snapped her back into focus; the low, warm sounds of a pair of stringed instruments attuning to each other. Startled, she glanced towards the back of the room, towards the main battery, and nearly dropped her drink in surprise. “Is that..?”

“It is,” Dr. Chakwas said with an almost insufferable smugness. “Are you familiar with human music, Dr. T’Soni? Specifically, what we would call ‘classical’ music?”

Commander Shepard and Lieutenant Alenko stood atop the main battery as if it were a stage, the former balancing a short, curved string instrument between her shoulder and cheek, the latter sitting down, straddling vertically what appeared to be a larger version of Shepard’s instrument. Both were teasing the strings with deft, delicate fingers and long strips of wood shimmering with some kind of fiber. The most soul-stirring, rapturous sounds reverberated from those strings, from the wood; it seemed to Liara as if, even in their warm-up, their instruments were sighing, singing, weeping at their touch.

“Commander Shepard is a… musician?” Liara managed after a moment, her jaw slack in amazement.

“She would never admit it,” Chakwas chuckled. “I believe her mother insisted she learn the violin as a girl. And Lieutenant Alenko is, of course, quite a talented cellist himself. Drink your champagne, dear.”

She obliged; the drink sweet and bubbly, spreading warmth down her chest, dancing in her throat, her stomach. She felt a little of the tension, of her awkwardness, slide away.

“She insists it is only to uphold a naval tradition dating back hundreds of years.” Chakwas shook her head, still chuckling. “Back in the days of Napoleon, when officers were lords and ladies - well, lords, at least - and were expected to conduct themselves with refinement and grace... But that woman can string a fiddle just as skillfully as she can field-strip an M7-Lancer, don’t let her tell you otherwise.”

Shepard’s fingers seemed to dance along the neck of her violin, the bow rising and falling with flourish, producing a warm, mellow series of notes. A quick scale, accompanied by a patter of good-natured wolf-whistles and cheers from the enlisted crew in attendance. The Commander’s eyes met Liara’s across the room, caught her staring, and her hawkish profile broke into a mischievous grin. Green eyes flashed an emerald wink at her, and Liara felt her cheeks flush a deep red. She quickly buried her face behind her glass, gulping down the rest of her champagne. _Goddess, I am going to regret that_...

“The Commander and the Lieutenant claim that this sort of thing is good for morale, and they’re right,” Chakwas continued, her voice only slightly slurring. Liara noticed her glass was also empty. “But it’s good for _their_ morale, too, you know? They need to disentangle themselves from the burdens of their command, more often.”

“What do you think, Commander, the Boccherini?” Lieutenant Alenko was saying up atop the battery. He had a knowing smile on his face, like the telling of a private joke. The fingers on both his hands began to pluck the strings of the cello with delicate purpose, like the patter of raindrops on a pane of glass. “Or are you in the mood for something more… aggressive?” Shepard’s own face broke into a wide grin of her own as recognition of the tune flooded into her eyes. The warmth, the genuine joy in the Commander’s face flashed through Liara as swiftly and as hotly as the alcohol had, and she could feel herself turn a shade or two brighter, imagining herself being the recipient of such a look. She found herself staring intently at Shepard’s lips as the human silently mouthed a count-in, and began to play.

The golden notes that poured out of Shepard and reverberated around the crew lounge took ahold of Liara in a way that she had never experienced in a piece of music. Their fingers flew over their fretboards, danced across their strings; a rich, breathy harmony, caramel and cathartic. It was at once up-tempo and melancholic, an elegant, rippling waltz, a brief sojourn into sadness, a bitterness that made the sweet things after, even sweeter. This fierce, beautiful, mysterious woman seemed to pour her very heart and soul into those fingers, into those strings, into the very air as her bow rose and dipped, as her dark hair flashed and whirled, as ripples of fire and ice seemed to swirl out of her, seemed to wrap about a spellbound Liara like a lover’s embrace. She was vaguely aware of tears in her eyes as the waves of sound crashed about her and receded, vaguely aware of the enraptured silence of the rest of the crew as Shepard and Alenko reached a feverish crescendo, a cresting swell, vaguely aware of holding her breath as their tune peaked, descended into soft valleys, faded gently.

The crew roared their approval, rattling glasses and whistling and stomping their feet. Shepard and Alenko jeered and laughed and joked along with them, good-naturedly. Liara, though, could barely speak, could barely breathe. _Who is this woman_? she thought. _How does she continue to take my breath away, every time her eyes fall upon me?_

Dr. Chakwas touched her elbow lightly. “I told you it was a special occasion,” she murmured closely.

“This is…” Liara fell silent for a moment. “This is a gift, Doctor. Thank you.”

“Thank her,” Chakwas retorted, pointedly. “After. _Talk to her_ , for God’s sake.”

“I… will.” She took a deep breath. “I will.”

“Good.” Chakwas smiled warmly. “The second movement is about to begin.”


End file.
